


Triggers

by RaniXani673



Series: The 'In's and 'Out's of You [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crying, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Male Sex Workers - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Prostitution, Sex, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaniXani673/pseuds/RaniXani673
Summary: “And what can I do for you, sweet thing?” The guy drawls. Oh yeah, the fucking nicknames. She almost regrets the whole thing.“I’m after Oscar.” She demands, throwing $200 onto the counter. “Two hours, privately.”He looks at her, looks at the money, looks at her. Picks up the money, counts the money. Shrugs and seems to say a mental ‘fuck it’. “Room 16,” He tosses her a key as he speaks and she has no right to feel like crying, “Pretty boy will be there shortly.”
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The 'In's and 'Out's of You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730758
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Triggers

There should probably be some kind of fucking law about being judgemental if you work as a bouncer at a “Ladies club”. At least, that’s what Rayne’s saying to herself once she’s permitted access.

She honestly can’t blame him, though. She’s wearing her haphazardly thrown on pyjamas from Thursday. It’s…

Fuck it’s Tuesday.

She marches through the dim club, wallet crushed in her grip with more cash than she earns in a paycheck as she stalks up to the counter.

The guy there is also a judgemental prick apparently.

“And what can I do for you, sweet thing?” The guy drawls. Oh yeah, the fucking nicknames. She almost regrets the whole thing.

“I’m after Oscar.” She demands, throwing $200 onto the counter. “Two hours, privately.”

He looks at her, looks at the money, looks at her. Picks up the money, counts the money. Shrugs and seems to say a mental ‘fuck it’. “Room 16,” He tosses her a key as he speaks and she has no right to feel like crying, “Pretty boy will be there shortly.”

And so, she picks up the shreds of confidence off the table with the key and stalks her way to the rooms. She throws her wallet into one corner, covers it with her sweater and then her shirt and sweats, leaving her in the only lacy pair of underwear and nice bra she owns. They don’t match but she really, honestly could not give less of a fuck. The pink push-up three sizes too small makes her tits look half-decent and at least the red underwear covers up the still fresh shaving cuts.

‘Shortly’ gives her enough time to take a fucking breath before Oscar walks in. He’s shirtless and in nothing but a fucking speedo which should be less of a surprise than it is. 

“You asked for me?” He walks in looking above her head, like he was expecting someone taller. When his eyes settle on her, she watches half the tension drag out of him. “Ah,” He stops flexing and smiles at her with those fucking soft eyes that make her weak. “Back for more, are we?”

“I’m about to jump your bones right fucking now, think you can handle it?” The shreds of her confidence fuse together somewhat, and her shoulders straighten.

Oscar, the little bitch that he is, slides down the wall a little so that they’re eye level. She thinks she mutters a ‘good boy’ but she can’t be sure as she slams into him with all the wound-up tension that’s been building since her family called.

The sex itself is a blur. It was good, she’s sure of it. But it’s a blur. When she comes to true realisation, she decides it’s a blessing.

She’s lying on his bare chest, wearing her sweater with her bra discarded across the room. He’s petting her hair and humming quietly, making her effective pillow vibrate. Said effective pillow is covered in…

Dry tears and snot.

Oh god that did not just fucking happen.

She goes to sit up, to pull away, to leave, to do anything, but she hiccups, and her breath hitches and he holds her there.

“’S’alright,” He murmurs, reaching for a glass of water that she with total certainty can say was not there before they fucked. “Take it easy, you’re alright. Still got half an hour left.”

He helps her sit, raising himself with nothing but his core muscles, which is fucking attractive in and of itself, and she sips at the water. When she feels like she’s steady and her voice won’t betray her, she chokes out a ‘sorry’ and a ‘didn’t think that would happen’.

“It’s alright, triggers fucking suck.” Triggers? The fuck happened. “So, I’m assuming that was new for you too?”

She nods, and considers herself before asking, “The fuck happened?”

“I don’t wanna set you off again…”

“Be blunt, I’m fine now.” She’s not, she’s not fooling either of them. He’s still reluctant. “Just fucking spit it out.”

“I called you Mommy.”

She blanches. 

Of course, that’s what fucked her up.

“It’s okay, everyone has shit like that.” His attempted comfort is honestly appreciated but she finds it hard to accept his forgiveness while he’s wiping her bodily fluids from his chest. 

“Oh yeah?” And cause she’s Rayne, unemotional, fucked up and dumb-bitch Rayne, she asks, “What’s yours then?”

“The ‘Winter’ sections of ‘Four Seasons’,” He answers before she can feel like an ass. “Y’know, the classical piece?” He hands her the sweatpants she threw into the corner and hour and a half ago.

“Yeah, I know the one. Vivaldi.” She has more sense than to ask why, but he must know she’s curious.

“It was my mother’s alarm.” He picks up her bra and wraps it in her t-shirt. “Wallet’s in there, too.” He places it on the bed in what is miraculously a neat heap. “Bathroom’s through there,” a gesture to a closed door, “and I can either wait for you in here and we can walk out together, or I can -”

“-Stay.”

“That I can do.” He plants himself next to her pile.


End file.
